


The Yadava Curse

by Pratigyakrishnaki



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore, Mahabharata - Vyasa, Radha Krishn (TV 2018), महाभारत | Mahabharat (TV 2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25838302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pratigyakrishnaki/pseuds/Pratigyakrishnaki
Summary: The death of the Yadavas, told from Rukmini's perspective, with a slight canon divergence!
Relationships: Krishna (Hindu Religions & Lore)/Rukmini (Mahabharata), Krishna/Jambavati
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: Hindu Mythology Event





	The Yadava Curse

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Hindu Mythology Event on Tumblr! I've posted to their collection as well!

In hindsight, Rukmini convinced herself that it was better that _her_ son be the one to cause the strife. Pradyumna grew up too quickly, always wanting to be at his father’s side, ready to fight or reason regardless of whether two states were at war or two brothers fighting over the last mango. Rukmini spent any free time she had worrying about her son who never played pranks, never caused her any worry. He, luckily, hadn’t inherited _that_ from his father. He showed too much of an interest in her work even at a tender age, though, she reckoned, that was partially her fault. She had sat in the Dwarka Yadava council right up until she gave birth, and even after, nursing him while court was in session, much to the chagrin of all the elders. (What could they say? Chief wife of Narayan Shri Krishna, Lakshmi on Earth? She held the power. Pradyumna would stay.)

So when Samba, he, of course, _would_ be the troublemaker of all the Yadava kids, took him to the lower city to “rakhad,” she was more than overjoyed, though she wouldn’t show it. She had a reputation to maintain.

She could remember it vividly, Samba running up to her, Pradyumna in tow, “Can we go into the lower city Badi maa?”

“Kyun?”

“Bas aise! Rakhad ne ke liye!”

She hadn’t thought anything of it, “Of course beta! Take the guards with you!”

But what Samba had proposed next had been a surprise, “Nahi Badimaa! Not with guards! In disguise!”

Rukmini had glanced up sharply, ready to turn that idea down but Samba cut her off, “Pitaji used to go! He still tries to go, but everyone recognizes his Gopala disguise...”

She hid a smile; the younger boy was right, and more observant than she was aware. Krishna tended to step out from time to time, disguised in a getup from his childhood days. Both Pradyumna and Samba, though, had taken after their mothers in looks, not her husband; they would be unnoticed.

“Accha fine, but be careful!” With a quick smile and a rushed hug, Samba had run off, tugging Pradyumna along, her next words falling on deaf ears, “And no disturbing the rushis near the temple grounds!”

Rukmini had warned them. She _had_. Regardless of what the other raanis had said, she _had_ warned the sons. But the curse was set. She never heard the full story, all she knew was: Pradyumna dressed as a pregnant woman, Samba’s mace under his angavastram, and a prank that went very wrong. She had seen her son after, face ashen and eyes red from crying. She had hugged him and comforted him as he clutched her like a newborn baby. She had heard him choke out that it was his fault that he had play acted, his fault that the sages were angered at his prank, and his fault that their family was doomed to death. She had held him tightly, wiping his tears, shushing him until he stopped sniffling. Samba and Jambavati had joined them in her chambers, the three of them worrying and crying, while she comforted and quieted them until her husband came back.

When Krishna came home, Pradyumna, though almost 18, had rushed into his father’s embrace, sobbing openly, soaking the Pitambar in tears. Krishna had just laughed, sitting him down. “Beta, wipe your tears. What happened, has happened. Why worry about something you no longer have control over?”

And that had been that. He was Narayan, and she was Lakshmi, but even they had no sway on destiny, no one did.

On the orders of the council, the mace had been ground up into ashes and thrown into the ocean, the clothes burned, the incident forgotten. But Rukmini never forgot. It wasn’t in her nature. She remembered everything for years and years, and waited calmly until the day that Krishna left one last time, the day of the family picnic. He had held her tightly, too tightly. He had kissed her deeply, too deeply. He had whispered the words, “I’ll see you in Vaikunta.” And then he had left, never to be seen by her in those eyes again. With a sinking feeling, she had gotten ready for the picnic, ready for her death.

She remembered it all, the merriment among the Yadava clan, the plentiful food, the joyful music and especially the overflowing wine. She remembered how a provoking word had been said by someone unimportant, and she remembered how the wine turned family against family, their own civil war. She remembered watching as the rest of the Ashtabharya also took up arms, Satyabhama in her element, fiery sword slashing this way and that. She remembered walking away from the carnage to her own chariot. She would not die this way.

She had caught the reins herself, urging the horses forward as she ruminated in her thoughts. Yes. It was a good thing that Pradyumna at least lived and pranked once, even though it was disastrous. Yes. It was good that he had been free if only for a moment. She would miss him; her son, another form of Narayana.

She made her way to the cliff she had decided would be her final step on Earth. It was far enough away that she could not see the bloodshed, but close enough to hear it. She had delayed it as long as she could, taking in her surroundings. She had let her horses go, the creatures could not be bound to a chariot for long, and then she was truly alone.

The sea, her father in another lifetime, was dark, reflecting the sky above. How quickly the skies had turned cloudy and dark. Not hours ago they had painted a different picture entirely. She felt a deep sadness, loneliness, she truly would die alone in this life. And then she remembered something Krishna had told her. Mata Yashoda had said that her Shyam would never leave her as long as the skies still turned dark. Rukmini looked up once more, at the skies and thought of her Shyam, her Krishna, her Narayan. She walked up, right to the edge of the cliff, eyes not leaving the sky, finding Shyam in every last shadow and movement of the clouds. She saw his arms reach out to her, beckoning her forward into the clouds. And then, still looking up, still thinking of her Krishna, she took the last step off the cliff, plunging into the depths below.

As she fell, she thought not of Pradyumna, Samba and the rest of her family, dying and decaying on the beach nearby. She thought not of the circumstances that lead her here, the mace, the prank, destiny’s revenge. She thought only of her Shyam, her Krishna. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In the same way, she would return, the Lakshmi to her Narayan, reunited once again.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so sad to write oh man. Like I wanted it to end on an even sadder note, but I couldn't do it. I had to end semi happily. So here we are!  
> It's rare for me to post on here so often but what can I say? The writing bug has hit me! 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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